


The Legend Begins

by orphan_account



Series: A life of war [1]
Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s), Smoking, Swearing, Underage Drinking, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 08:00:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8525170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: One-shot telling the story of how Metnal and La Rosa joined the Wild Hunt.Takes place before "Maybe the devil's not so bad after all" when Metnal is a teenager.Repost because I absolutely hated the old title and last paragraph.





	

The atmosphere was tense. They were all hanging back in a loose semi circle around the castle, partially shielded by the thick trees of the surrounding forest. Fog had begun to set in, slightly obscuring the green grass. The large castle with high walls dominated the middle of the clearing, surrounded by a wide moat. Brünnhilde gripped her longsword tightly as she surveyed the scene. 20 archers on the high walls from the looks of it, one ginormous god in full plate armor stood guarding the outside of the gates, any second now they’d…

And then she saw a fourteen century old godling hiding behind some bushes to her left.

“Rosey? What are you doing here? I told you this place isn’t safe.” noticing the guilty look on the teenaged goddess’ face, she instantly become more worried. “Where’s your brother?” The girl played with her shoulder length jet black hair uncomfortably. Her eyes, black pupils with emerald green irises, tried not to focus on her. Her off-pink shirt had a few more nicks in it, and her once-black pants were now caked in mud. “He said he’d be back in a second, he just had to go do something.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something that made her blood run cold. Another young god was walking confidently up to the besieged castle’s gates. Growling in frustration, she rushed to the edge of the clearing, shouting “Metnal! Come back here, it’s not safe!” The leather jacket-clad teenager stopped mid-stride, turned around, and gave her a thumbs up.  “Metnal! You get right back here young man. Or I’ll… does he… does he have a whiskey bottle?”

Immediately a barrage of arrows was sent in her direction, forcing her to duck quickly back behind the cover of a thick tree.

“The little bastard stole me targe!’ a voice with a heavy scottish accent yelled from another spot on the edge of the clearing. The teenager took a long swig of the whisky bottle, coughed, smoothed the thick mane of white hair that covered his head back, and then threw the bottle away, pulling a thick, blue-and-white shield adorned with a nastily long spike in front of him. At the gate stood a ginormous figure, covered completely in plate armor. A deep laugh echoed out of his visor. “And who just might you be?” “Most call me Metnal. Does your offer for a duel still stand?” Came a voice that should not have belonged to a any teenager. “Yes, but it doesn’t extend to half-starved waifs such as yourself.”

“METNAL!! DO YOU HEAR ME YOUNG MAN!!! GET RIGHT BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!!!”

“Looks like your mother’s calling you, kid.” The god sneered. “What sort of cowards send children to fight in their stead?”

“The kind that only need to send only need to send them in order to kill all you dickless fucks.” Metnal inwardly celebrated. Practicing that line every night had paid off, with no stutter or anything.

“WHAT WAS THAT?!” an angry voice echoed from the trees.

The much bigger god gripped his great sword tightly in annoyance. “Fine kid, I’ll teach you some manners, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The first swing collided squarely with the shield, sending the teenager flying. Hitting the ground hard, Metnal rolled and landed back on his feet, and then switched to holding the shield with his right hand after he noticed that his left wrist was dislocated the force of impact.

Back in the trees, Brünnhilde charged forward, only to be immediately be repelled by another swarm of arrows in her direction. Turning her attention back to the girl, she saw her lining up a shot with her hunting bow. “Oh no you don’t!” she said while grabbing the bow away from her. She had to think of a strategy to close the distance between them and those archers.

Metnal charged, screaming like a demon, swiftly rolling under the other’s sword swing. Now having closed the distance, he stabbed the shield’s spike deep into the god’s unprotected inner-thigh where the femur met the hip. Screaming in pain, his opponent pulled the shield out of his leg and threw it to the side. Thinking quickly, Metnal dashed to the side to avoid an overhead swing, and pulled a long knife out of the sheath on his belt. He just had to figure out a way to make him drop his sword. 

He spotted his shield a few feet away from him, lying spike facing up. Suddenly, he had a plan. Dashing forward, he tried to plant the knife into the other god’s armored kneecap. Making no effort to avoid the expected kick, he allowed himself to land a few feet away, right next to the shield. His opponent raised his foot in preparation to stomp on him, and Metnal couldn’t help but smile. He loved it when a plan came together. Just before impact, he grabbed the shield and braced himself. As expected, the spike pierced the relatively thinner armor covering the sole of the his foot. Howling in pain, the god dropped his sword momentarily to pull the shield out, which turned out to be a very big mistake. As quick as a flash, Metnal stabbed his knife deep into the back of the god’s other knee, causing him to fall over. Roughly grabbing his left wrist, Metnal violently popped it back into place.

Up above on the parapet, one archer couldn’t help but notice the predicament of his comrade below. He knocked an arrow into his bow, took careful aim at the other god, and was about to let go when an arrow sprouted from his eye, causing him to accidentally shoot the archer right next to him in the foot before losing his balance and falling over the side and into the moat.

Back behind the trees, all eyes went back to the girl with sugary skin and pitch black eyes who was still holding the bow she had just stolen back from Brünnhilde. “What?” she asked innocently. At this point Brünnhilde was starting to wonder if she should still be surprised at this point. Someone whispered in her ear “Where’d you find these kids?” “A few miles back on the battlefield.”

Metnal tried pulling the knife back out of his knee, but it seemed to have wedged itself in the bone. Suddenly, a big gauntleted hand grabbed him by the neck. “SO YOU WANNA PLAY YOU LITTLE BASTARD? LET’S PLAY!!” the god roared, immediately putting all of his weight on top of him, hoping to crush the life out of him. Little did he know, being close to Metnal was one of the last places you wanted to be. With a surprising amount of strength, Metnal maneuvered one arm out from under the crushing weight, consequently tearing off a few layers of leathery skin, and used it to pull the other god’s helmet off. Their eyes met for a second, silver cat eyes meeting enraged blue ones, before Metnal’s lower jaw unhinged itself, splitting the skin of his cheeks open in the process, revealing a row of sharp teeth resembling an alligator's, though much longer. Almost immediately a big portion of his face, including his nose, was ripped off, much to the disgust, confusion, and awe of all onlookers.

Wailing in pain, he held one hand to his face in an attempt to quell the bleeding, but only succeeding in partially releasing Metnal. Using the other’s helmet as a crude steel boxing glove, he proceeded to viciously beat the side of his head. Both gods were now drenched in blood, most of it sticking to Metnal’s hair, turning parts of it a rusty dark red.

Worming his way out of his grasp, Metnal dashed for the other god’s discarded greatsword. Hefting the huge blade up, He brought it down with all of his remaining strength, severing his opponent's head.

Breathlessly, he dropped the sword, and trudged forward to retrieve his foe’s head. Grabbing it by the hair, he lifted it up proudly, and gave a small bow to the soldiers behind the trees, panting all the while.

“And we have eighteen more just like him!” someone yelled from behind the trees.

Any response from the defenders was drowned out by the sound of weapons being dropped and the gates raised. Soldiers poured from behind the trees to start taking prisoners.

He started scanning the oncoming crowd for his sister, before Brünnhilde grabbed him by the ear and started pulling him away.

…….

"Where'd you find them?"  
"I first found them about a half mile away, I thought that they'd been displaced from the fighting."  
An elderly man with wrinkles and a can pushed the door open, to reveal Metnal stropping a Bowie knife on his calf, still breathing a little heavily, and La Rosa playing with her hair absent-mindedly. Mental's clothes were still bloodstained, his white hair red and matted in spots with dried blood, but at least he was convinced to wipe the blood off of his face.  
"Come on you two troublemakers, there's some people that want to talk to you."  
"Are we in trouble?"  
"Not at all Rosey, they just haven't seen anyone as special as you two before."  
"That's one way to put it." Brünnhilde interjected lightly.  
Mental smiled at her, before shoving his knife into his boot sheath.  
The older man frowned at him. "And you, young man, what have I told you about drinking?"

Metnal didn't answer him, but looked like he was trying to. His breathing became faster, shallower. "Metnal, what's wrong?!" La Rosa asked.  
"His lung's collapsed." Said a tall, muscular man with his black hair tied back into a ponytail. Approaching the teenaged gods, he kneeled in front of her. "May I?" She nodded uncertainly and handed him the stiletto she kept in a sheath at her waist.

He quickly plunged the thin blade between Metnal's ribs, then pushed a flexible tube through the wound. Putting his mouth to the other end of the tube, he sucked out the excess air and fluid out of his lungs. Spitting out the blood, he offered a hand to the younger god. "Can't say I've ever seen someone hide broken ribs so well. Now I'd avoid doing anything too physical until your bones set back into place."

Metnal nodded obediently. "Thank you sir."  
  
"Call me War."  
Immediately, Metnal's eyes lit up in admiration.  
"Rosey! It's him! That means that-" "That the rest of the horsemen have been waiting to talk to you two for the last ten minutes." A cloaked skeleton interrupted.  
"It's not every day one kid rips someone's face off and another shoots someone in the eye from three hundred meters away. And with a short bow no less." A well armored god with a longbow added.  


The skeleton and the old man glared at each other.  
"Death"  
"Dad"  
"Well kids, I'll be out here, come get me when you're done. Hildy, after you." 

"Oh, I was actually aiming for the man next to him." La Rosa responded shyly.  
"And with a short bow no less."  
"She once took out a guy's wings from four hundred feet away. While he was flying. Away from her. She even called it before she shot." Metnal bragged.  
"I did not! He gets farther away every time you tell that story." 

"Impressive nontheless. Shall we start with introductions? You've already met my colleague War. I am Conquest, the man behind me is Death, and Famine is... where is Famine?" 

"This bread is not worth the bread it's served on." A thin god that was sitting on the the floor in the corner with ashy skin said, fiddling with a scale.  
"...Right. Anyway, we," he gestured to the four of them, "are the four horsemen of the apocalypse." 

Metnal and La Rosa looked at each other with shared looks of glee. 

"I think they've heard of us." Death said, casually leaning on his spear.  
"You're our heroes!" The said simultaneously.  
All of them, even Famine, smiled a little.  
"Good to know there's still some people with good taste." Death remarked, earning him a small dig in the shoulder from War. "  
That's very good to know," Conquest continued, "now what we'd like to know is, starting off, how did you two find yourselves on the battlefield? 

"Well," she began, "it started when we met with Mr. Lucifer, he's going to show my brother how to run a realm."  
"I'm gonna be a king!"  
"And what realm would that be?"  
"Land of the Cursed." They said simultaneously.  
"Hmm, what pantheon is that in again?" Conquest asked.  
"That's in the same pantheon as Xibalba's." War interjected.  
Upon hearing _his_ name, La Rosa subtly tightened her grip on her brother's hand underneath the table. 

"You are El Chamuco's brood." Famine declared from the corner. 

Metnal didn't know what "brood" meant, but he didn't like hearing his name. His hand instinctively went to the small "6" burned into his cheek.  
The two teenagers scowled. "No" was his simple reply. 

Three of the four gods were confused by this reaction. "Well, who are your parents then?"  
Rosa looked sad, Metnal simply shrugged.  
"We don't have any." 

Instead of the expected sympathy, the four simply nodded.

"What are you going to do now?" Death asked.  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
"The two of you at least appear to be capable in the art of killing, no doubt there's be many people willing to pay through the nose for people like you two. That is unless today was just a fluke."  


_"This guy's kind of a dick."_ Metnal thought.  
_"He just wants to know if we're good enough."_ La Rosa returned.

"Sir, Death, if I may," Metnal said with a rehearsed eloquence, "there have been a total of eighty seven seperate attempts on our lives since we were one thousand. Today was an _off_ day for us."

Death glared at him a second, and then smiled. "Well then I just hope you didn't kill any of my friends."  


"I have an idea," War began, "seeing as these two troublemakers are going to be spending some more time around these parts, why not let them join the Wild Hunt?"  
"Yay!" They chimed.

"Minimum enrollment age is sixteen hundred for gods. That is a rule even we can not bend." Famine reminded him.  
"Aw!" 

"Well, they won't take part in actual combat, weapon maintenance, battlefield cleaning*, some reaping, maybe even some pest control**." War amended.  
The siblings couldn't decide on how to feel about that.

"Fine, if they won't be participating in combat, they get my vote." Conquest declared.

"And mine." Said War.  
"Mine as well." Said Death.  
All eyes turned to Famine. He quietly placed a piece of bread on one side of the scale, and a small stack of coins on the other. When the side with the coins raised, he added several more, now making it lower. He sighed. "Such is the way of demand." He turned to the siblings. "They have strong hearts, and hot blood. With discipline, they'll make fine warriors. They recieve my vote."

Conquest and War smiled at them. "Seeing as we are unanimous," Conquest began, "let us be the first to welcome you to the Wild Hunt."

"Here, hold out your left hands." War commanded, pulling two oddly shaped pieces of metal resembling stamps, both of which were about the size of the godling's' hands. "This may sting a little." War warned while pressing their palms to the metal, causing the pieces to glow. After a minute of absolute silence, an intense feeling of awkwardness began to set in. "Are you sure it's working?" Suddenly the smell of burning sugar filled the room. "Ow! Shit!" La Rosa swore, raising the eyebrows of all present, besides Metnal, and Death, because he didn't have eyebrows.

a few minutes later, War released their hands. They quickly pulled their hands away, revealing a silver tattoo of three dogs encircled nose-to-tail etched into their left palms.  
"Now those tattoos will stretch as your hands grow, and they can't be covered by any scars."  
"Cool! But why are they smelling each other's butts?" Metnal said, feeling the still raw skin.

"Right, sometimes I forget that you're both fourteen." Conquest deadpanned.

"Great!," War clapped his hands, "well, your training begins on, let's see, Sunday."  
"Are you going to train us?" Metnal asked. He smiled, "unfortunately for you, yeah. So you two'd better get used to this ugly mug."

The siblings laughed with delight, before starting to leave.

"Oh! Before you go, there is one caveat. Conquest said. "The Wild Hunt does not condone underage drinking, or the use of any drug for that matter. So wait until you're at least eighteen before you go slugging back whiskey like that, are we clear?"  
Metnal shot him a salute. "Crystal, sir!"  
"Good man, you're both free to go."

After the door had closed, War pulled a cigar box out of his pocket, offered one to Conquest, who waved it away in favor of his pipe, War already had a cigarrette, and Famine shook his head no.

Lighting his own, he relaxed back in his chair.  
"You've certainly taken an interest in those godling's fates." Famine said.  
Absent-mindedly blowing a few smoke rings, he laughed a little. "What can I say? I owed a... friend a favor."  
"Big favor. You just told them you'd personally train them in addition as dragging us all here for this." Death said between puffs.

"We can beat around the bush as much as we'd like, but I don't think I was the only one that observed the brand on his neck and number on his face." Conquest said, blowing some smoke.  
War's expression turned grim. "The practice has been outlawed for centuries. I don't see why we can't-"

"Because if we do charge him, it basically makes the information and results public."  
Famine remarked glumly.

"We don't have to charge him for anything." Death said, punching one boney hand into the other.  
"The last thing the Wild Hunt needs right now is conflict with another pantheon. Right now I say we allow things to run their course, maybe the boy'll take him out." Conquest said while tapping his chin with his pipe.

The other three didn't have any better ideas, so they agreed.  
"Tell me, is it true what he said about the 'eighty seven attempts on their lives'?" Death asked.  
"Actually, if my source is correct, it is probably closer to one hundred, all of them angels or trained mercenaries. Or the pantheon equivalent of angels."

"Your source tell you anything else interesting?"  
"Hmm, let me see if I can remember the direct quote about La Rosa. 'The sweetest little girl you'd ever want to meet, and if she so much as thinks you're trouble, she'll put two arrows in your balls before her brother rips your head off.'"

The four gods laughed. At this point, the room had become hazy from the smoke. 

"Say, didn't Xibalba have a wife? I think I remember her looking similar to the girl." Conquest asked thoughtfully."

"Now that you mention it, yeah. Probably just a coincidence, there's a million skeletons running around. Damn shame what happened to Xibalba though. Have any of you gone to see him in in a while?"

"He stopped seeing people, I hope he's holding up." War answered.

"Xibalba has always been one to persevere, I have confidence that he will one day be able to overcome his exile." Famine mused.

**Author's Note:**

> *this means showing up after the battle and "taking care" of any enemy wounded
> 
> **this means hunting down monsters such as chimeras and griffins that are causing problems
> 
> Side note, Metnal was born about 100 B.C.E (before the common era) so this story takes places places roughly around the mid-1300's.


End file.
